The Circle of Life
by Astra H. Lowelle
Summary: Scar is persuaded to take care of his ill nephew, and innnnnnn come the recollections when Simba drowsily asks for a story.


"...I wouldn't ordinarily do this, Scar. I know how much your solitude means to you."

It was a swelteringly hot day on the Pridelands, and Scar was entirely displeased to be summoned from his cave to Pride Rock for an audience with his brother. "I have no intention of nannying your little crown prince, Mufasa."

Mufasa sighed. "Sarabi is out on a hunting trip, and I have duties to attend to. Simba merely needs someone to watch him."

"Oh? Is that an _order_, Your Highness?"

"Watch your tone, Scar." Mufasa's voice sharpened. "I am asking this of you as a favor. Besides"- a hint of a smile appeared on his mouth- "you'd know all about caring for a sick cub, wouldn't you, brother?"

Scar's mouth twisted. "Fine. But only if you bring him to my cave."

Mufasa assented, "It would probably be best there- cool and quiet. Thank you, Scar."

"Shall I curtsey now, at this display of royal favor?"

Mufasa smiled. "You sound just as you did all those years ago."

.,.,.

Zazu was not overly fond of Scar, and the feeling was mutual. Therefore, Zazu remained a healthy distance from the mouth of the cave, where the dark lion's face and shoulders were visible, and his green eyes glowed eerily in the shadows.

"The prince," the hornbill announced in his usual self-important tone, beak high in the air as if he couldn't be bothered to look down. Or perhaps he feared to. How amusing.

Whatever.

"Which prince?" Scar drawled, languidly examining one paw, flexing it carelessly and watching the steely claws appear. Zazu started backward in alarm.

"I mean the _crown_ prince!"

"How charming," Scar yawned. "Do bring him here."

A drowsy-eyed Simba was ushered forward into the cave, and Zazu began a pompous list of instructions just as to what _exactly_ to do if there was an emergency. Scar ignored him only as a disdainful noble could, addressing himself instead to his nephew.

"Shall we get into the cool and the _quiet_, Simba, as your father so wisely suggested?"

Simba was too weary to do much more than shuffle after his uncle, Zazu's voice fading as the two wound deeper into the cave.

"So, what exactly is wrong with you?" Scar asked after he had settled down in a recess of the inner sanctum. Simba flopped down beside him, and nestled himself close to his uncle's dark mane.

"I d'no," he said sleepily. "Dad says it's not catchy, but that I should rest a lot."

Scar watched the cub's sides slowly rising and falling. "You don't seem bothered."

"My head hurts, and I feel really sick, but it's a little better when I lie down."

"Really." Now didn't _that_ sound familiar.

Simba nodded, closing his eyes and burrowing closer to Scar's side.

_He's cold,_ Scar thought. He remembered the symptoms. That was the only reason he was even allowing the cub to snuggle like this. A few minutes passed. Simba's breathing became panting.

_He's thirsty._ "You should take some water."

Simba's eyes opened a fraction. "How'd you know?"

Scar placed a paw on his nephew's back and shifted him over slightly so he, Scar, could get up. "Stop talking, and stay still."

.,.,.

There was an unusually large leaf with a natural concave half-submerged in the watering hole. Scar nosed it out, then curled his tail around the stem and dragged it back to the cave.

Simba tried to drink the liquid quickly, but Scar pulled the leaf backward. "Not so fast. And not too much, or you'll be sick."

Simba reluctantly slowed his pace, then lay back down again without finishing the water. He seemed droopier than ever.

"Do you think I'll get worse, Uncle Scar?"

Scar twitched at the tell-tale quiver in the cub's voice. How uncomfortably familiar. "What makes you say that?"

"I feel so _awful_," Simba whimpered. He dropped his head weakly onto the cave floor, looking pleadingly up at his uncle through dulled eyes.

"You'll feel better after a nap," Scar suggested, once again allowing Simba to curl up beside him.

"...will you tell me a story?"

He really _ought_ to have seen this one coming. Scar smiled wryly. "How about a story about your father and I when we were younger?"

"My age?"

"No, slightly older." _Why_ was he doing this?

Whatever.

Simba gave a soft sigh and closed his eyes. Scar ran his tongue over his lips, yawned, and began.

.,.,.

"_Our first independent hunt and you get sick?" Mufasa asked incredulously._

_Scar groaned and flopped down under the shade of a rock outcropping. "Don't, Mufasa. Just don't."_

_Mufasa took a few steps closer. "What's the matter?"_

"_I have no idea," Scar managed. He hated himself for allowing his brother to see him like this, but the white-hot pains lancing through his insides were not exactly taking pride into account. "I highly doubt it's- uuugh- contagious. I just need- need to rest a minute. Continue on if you must."_

_Mufasa sat down beside his brother. "I don't mind waiting."_

_The hot lances of pain receded slowly, leaving an uncomfortable heat in their wake, and Scar shut his eyes. He felt Mufasa watching him. It was quiet for a few minutes._

"_Do you want me to find you some water?"_

"_Shall I curtsey now, at this display of royal favor?"_

"_Scar... do you want the water or not?"_

_It would murder his dignity to nod. It would murder his throat not to. Scar nodded._

.,.,.

"That sounds like what's happening now," Simba interrupted drowsily, giving a weak giggle. The leaf had a little water left, and he took a few laps of it before settling down again. "Except I wasn't saying those things. Is there any more of the story, Uncle Scar?"

Scar raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe you know if you hadn't interrupted. As I was saying..."

.,.,.

_Mufasa brought back a leaf that had some water in it, likely the result of the pouring rain last night. Scar drank some of it too quickly and was nearly sick, then slowed his pace reluctantly. He then lay down again._

"_Better?" Mufasa asked. Scar nodded. _

"_Do you want to rest now? We can hunt later."_

"_I don't care if you go without me."He did care. But only a little._

"_But I do care. I want to go together. I don't mind waiting."_

_Quite agonizing, this. And now he would have to be grateful afterwards to his gallant and generous future monarch for being so noble and patient._

_Whatever._

_The heat receded, and Scar felt as though the temperature in the savanna had dropped by fifty degrees. Now there were shivers and cold needles instead of hot lances._

_And of course Mufasa just had to notice._

.,.,.

"Did you really feel like there were cold needles inside you?" Simba asked incredulously, or as incredulously as a weak cub can while lying on his side. "That's just what _I _feel like! But it's getting a little better. Maybe I'm less sick than you were."

Scar tried not to roll his eyes, then succumbed to the urge. Elaborately. "Perhaps not."

"So what happened next?" Simba wanted to know.

"I'll tell you if you stop interrupting, shall I?" Why wasn't the furball asleep yet?

Perhaps his story was just so _fascinating..._

.,.,.

"_Are you all right, Scar?" Mufasa asked in concern. "You weren't shivering before."_

"_I am just fine," Scar informed him, disgusted by the lack of strength in his own voice. "I was just about to go daisy picking. Why, doesn't it show?"_

"_You're not in any condition to go daisy picking."_

_Scar wanted to reply with something scathing, but all of his limited strength was occupied with trying to fight away the dully stabbing chill and he wasn't quite sure how to do that when he was having trouble simply holding his head up._

_Until there was a shuffling beside him and his older brother's warm, muscular body was pressed up beside his, and a gently strong paw was pressing his head downward until it rested on the ground. "You should sleep, Scar."_

_Scar didn't say anything, partly because he didn't have a reply, and partly because sleeping sounded quite appealing. _

_Whatever._

_He closed his eyes, Mufasa's breathing almost in tandem with his own. _

.,.,.

There was a faint snore. Scar peered down at his sleeping nephew, nestled tightly up against him.

"Was I really so boring?" he asked softly, even as the ghost of a smile curled one corner of his mouth. Simba snored again.

The small golden bundle of fur wasn't shivering anymore. Perhaps the littler cubs were more resilient.

Whatever.

At least he wasn't talking anymore.

And he, Scar, had finally paid Mufasa back.

The ghost of a smile began a full-fledged-fanged grin.

_Ah, the Circle of Life._


End file.
